


Born With Wings || WingBur Soot (Impcraig based)

by FishCatCrafts



Series: Impcraig Based Works [3]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Body Modification, Dad Philza, Forced Mutilation, Gore, Graphic Description, Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Wilbur Soot, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot-centric, Wing AU, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Winged TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Winged Wilbur Soot, not by blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29482788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FishCatCrafts/pseuds/FishCatCrafts
Summary: Wilbur eagerly awaited the day he would rule over his own faction, his own portion of land, but to pay such a high price for it? He isn't sure whether the loss was ever worth the gain.-WingBur Soot-Centric
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: Impcraig Based Works [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102628
Comments: 25
Kudos: 283





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick side note, this gets pretty bloody and graphic! If you cannot handle long descriptions of violence and gore, dont read!
> 
> Also! This is based off of Impcraig's wing-comic!

The clash of metal sent chills far up his spine, the feathers on his back ruffling and ears ringing at the sound. The sword in his near-painful grasp vibrated, the blade against his own leaning further down. In an effort to stay afront, Wilbur pressed his palm against the flat of the blade. His teeth ground together, the pressure building in his head at the movement. The frantic beat of his speckled wings only aided in kicking dust from the musty ground. 

Wilbur grunts, adrenaline fogging over the dull ache in his knees at the pressure as he forces the other blade back. The achievement was short lived as his own blade skid from his hands. He stared into the hollow-masked eyes of his opponent, fear crawling in his stomach. Wilbur dodged Dream’s blade narrowly with only a dull cut to his arm, one of many already collecting on his skin.

He propelled forward and just barely clutched his diamond sword between his fingers before the familiar cold stillness of a blade pressed against his back. Wilbur’s body froze upon the contact, fear rearing its ugly head and paralyzing the avian on his feet. Leather fingers grasped his wisps of brown hair and yanked harshly. Wilbur cried out a muffled yell as his head struck against the hilt of a sword. His head swam as a dull throb filled his ears. He screamed for his body to move, to use the blade so weakly held in his hands against Dream, but the only movement was the consistent twitch of feathers. 

Many of the speckled items littered the floor, among the crimson stains and kicked dust. Wilbur breathed in a rattled breath and grabbed the hand twisted in his hair. With a heavy cry, he pushed off his feet and flipped the man behind him, who fell with a choked cough. The brunette felt the socket of his wing pop and flinched as the burning pain spread across his skin. Dream’s fingers were clamped around the appendage, forcing the delicate bone at an odd angle. 

Wilbur felt the burning ache of tears behind his eye and the painful lump in his throat as he choked back a cry of pain. He grit his teeth down and struck his own sword down against Dream’s arm, blood welling from the source. The man hissed at the pain and was quick to draw his hand from the broken wing. 

Everyone knew Wilbur as the arguably less competent of his family (except for Tommy, of course. He’s only a child), weak with a sword but brilliant with his words. But, in a family full of war-lord titans, the sword will always come easy in hand. He was trained by the best of the best, after all.

But, even now, he regrets ever putting it down. Ever dozing off instead of practicing. Because, as the avian falls at the hands of the man, Wilbur can’t help but to plead on memories of old for knowledge and aid. As the cool netherite blade cuts further into his flesh, he can only regret what he lacked.

  
  
  
  


________

  
  
  
  
  


The day the wings on his back grew to length was a day Wilbur would keep treasured in his memories til his final breath. 

It wasn’t any normal day, not for anyone within the house, as Wilbur had woken up with an odd ache in his wings and an itch in his spine. The scent of eggs and coffee was familiar as he pushed himself off the bed. He yawned and rubbed the crust from his tired eyes, wings flexing and feather puffed. A series of small yells bounced off the walls as Wilbur descended the stairs. 

He squished himself into the one of the three remaining chairs, the two little heathens Wilbur considers brothers arguing playfully. Phil was coming to and from the kitchen, dropping off a slice of bread and eggs onto plates as he went. 

Tommy’s shriek of excitement rang in Wil’s ears as the young avian dug into his breakfast. Tubbo- the kid who visits so often, he mise well stay- was quieter with his eating. Wilbur thanked Phil quietly as a full plate was placed in front of him, the older ruffling his hair affectionately. He didn’t even have the energy to react. 

Techno came not-so-gracefully down the steps, hair blown into a mess of knots and tangles over his shoulders. He collapsed into the chair with a huff. Phil sat at the head of the table after placing a plate before Techno, his own food in hand. He smiled at all of the kids before locking eyes on Wilbur’s wings. A small smile broke out on his face. “Hey Wil,” he called over the ruckus that was the chaotic duo. “I think your molt is finally done.”

Wilbur’s eyes widened and the spoon in his mouth dropped comically from his mouth. A smile inched itself onto his face as his feathers ruffled at the thought. “You think?” 

Phil nodded with a knowing smile. “I do. Let’s finish breakfast and then we can see if your wings are ready for flight, okay?”

.

.

.

Wing stretches and exercises weren’t abnormal in the household, seeing as three of the four (technically five, with Tubbo) had wings. Phil demanded constant care for their wings, in every extent of the word. Ever since the little heathens were dropped into his arms. 

So, as Wil’s muscle memory kicked in, it was only a matter of whether his wings were truly ready for flight. His youngest brother stood at his side, young eyes wide with wonder and excitement as Wilbur flared his gray-speckled wings. Tommy’s own young, white feathered down quivered with excitement. 

“You know the movements,” Wilbur nodded as Philza crouched down and took off. “If your wings are ready, then you should be able to follow me.”

There was a buzzing anxiousness in his nerves as his primaries twitched in anticipation. He spread his wings wide as he crouched low, taking a running start. Wilbur strained the muscles in his shoulders as his feathers just barely struck the ground with each downbeat. Three beats and he was propelled into the air, feet somewhat flailing behind him at the take off.

“Good job!” Phil praised, flying in the air next to his suspended son. “Im so proud.”

Wilbur’s heart soared at the praise, a bright smile taking over his face. He slowly circled the small garden in their front yard, Tommy chasing after him. The blond’s small wings fluttered behind him as he jumped towards his brother. “You’re flying! You’re flying!” The youngest called. 

They spent an hour like that, flying and calling and cheers and praise all in the air as the second oldest keened in delight. To fly was to be free, to feel the ends of his feathers stretch wide as wind sifted through his wings and to soar across the sky. Wilbur was full of bubbling energy as he landed some-what clumsily onto the floor. 

Exhaustion pulled at his muscles and his wings cried for some rest, but there was such a bright light to his eyes and energy in his step that everyone within the house could feel it. Tommy, the young child he was, trailed after his older brother asking question after question. Wilbur answered with earnest as Tommy bounced in his heels, small wings flapping in excitement.

  
  
  
  


_________

  
  
  
  


“Wilbur!” 

He shifted on his mattress slightly, the sheets curled in his fingers as he woke groggily. There was something pressed awkwardly to his face and he groaned. 

“Wilbur Soot!” 

“What?!” He shouted, wings flaring as he sat up.

A feather stuck against his face uncomfortably and he peeled the object off with a twitch to his lip. He tumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen again, grumbling loudly at the pair of glaring eyes. “What do you want, gremlin fuck?”

Tommy shrieked and bat the hand in his hair away. “Your fuckin feathers are getting everywhere again!”

Wilbur rolled his eyes and sat next to Tommy, his designated chair, and shuffled his wings losely behind him. “I preened them last night, what do you want from me?” 

“Preen them again!” He lifted a gray-speckled feather from the table. “I woke up with this stabbing my arm! I found another on the couch! They’re fuckin everywhere man!”

Wilbur groaned and rolled his eyes, resenting even getting up now. “Yeah, fine, whatever. I’ll do it later.”

The boy grinned smugly and shovelled another bite of cereal into his mouth. Wil grabbed his own bowl and began slowly eating.

.

.

.

Gray-speckled-white wings spread across the living room, feathers sprawled around the group of three. Phil sat behind his eldest son, humming lightly as he thread his fingers through the delicate down on the shoulder of Wil’s wings. Techno was working gently on the coverts of his left wing, straightening and plucking some loose feathers. The two children were off playing elsewhere, most likely outside, giving the three older some time to themselves.

Wilbur had his guitar in hand and was absentmindedly strumming chords. Preening was a calming time, done either with family or on their own. The brunette was near bliss when the sudden pounding of footsteps swept him from the blink of sleep. 

Tommy rounded the corner and marvelled at the pillows of feathers spewed on the floor. He slipped lightly on one before catching himself. “You molting again or some shit?” The boy snickered to himself.

“Tommy, dont be rude.” Phil scolded, brows creased as he worked. “Why dont you come and help us instead of being a lil shit? You okay with that, Wil?”

Wilbur looked at Tommy, gave him a once over, before nodding and huffing. The youngest, although only eleven in age, was well versed with the art of cleaning one’s feathers. Tommy was notorious for being a neat-freak about his own (whether that’s because Phil pushed him for it or because he loved the soft white of his feathers, he wouldn’t say), so he was the most practiced. 

The boy pushed himself forward and latched onto Wilbur’s right, beginning the meticulous process of straightening and cleaning feathers. Tubbo inches himself into the room as well, sitting behind Tommy to watch the blond work. 

An hour later and many feathers fixed, the floor was a nest of dusty white and gray, a few lighter and dark adoring the monochrome scene. Wilbur stood to his feet and shook his wings out, all feathers aligning into a comfortable position as he collapsed them against his back. Wil turned back and smiled at his family before laughing loudly. 

Techno was absolutely coated in feathers, in his mane of hair and down stuck to his shirt. An ugly snort filled the room as Tommy cackled, also covered in feathers. It seemed the only one spared from the assault was Wilbur himself. 

Phil got up with a soft sigh and an affectionate eye roll, clapping his hands together. “Alright boys! Thank you all for the help. Let me go make dinner and we’ll all relax for the night.”

  
  
  
  


_______

  
  
  
  
  


Light water was nothing for the slick-feathers of avian wings. It would slide off with little but irritation. Drenching rain and swimming, however, was far off the table. The water would create a dead-weight and drag the appendages down achingly. Being caught in a light drizzle was little reason to worry, but the storm Wilbur and Techno were caught in? There was little hope of making it without being drenched.

Wilbur did his best to press his wings against his back as they ran towards the direction of their home. Techno was using his cape to cover them both to the best of their abilities. They broke from the tree line just as Wilbur’s wings began to painfully sag. “This fucking sucks!” He yelled over the loud pounding of rain. 

He heard the loud huff in reply as they ran across the plateau before their home. Wilbur’s foot slipped from under him and he fell to his back with a shriek, wings stretched wide in a failed effort to catch himself. He cringed as he pulled away from the soggy ground, mud caked and sliding down his wings. 

They reached the porch with a huff, Wilbur whined as he shook his soaked feathers. Water and mud pooled under his feet as he waited for Phil to answer Techno’s knock on the door. Their father swung the door open and looked down at the two drenched kids with pity. “What did I tell you two about playing in the rain?” He teased.

“We ran back as soon as the rain started!” Wilbur threw his hands in the air as Techno nodded quickly next to him.

The man smiled and grabbed the two towels he placed near the door earlier, predicting this very situation. He tossed one onto Techno’s mop of pink hair before helping Wilbur gently clean the muck from his wings. The towels ended up soppy with water and twinged brown once the two boys were dried enough to enter the home. “Learn your lesson?” 

Wilbur rolled his eyes but smiled and nodded anyway, making his way to the kitchen and plopping onto one of their many backless chairs. His wings were still somewhat drying, so he let the dull white feathers splay out behind him. Phil worked quietly in the kitchen as Techno slid in the chair next to the brunette. “Can’t believe he’s acting like we did this on purpose!” Wilbur whisper-yelled.

Techno nodded back, a huff of air leaving his mouth. “Yeah. It’s not fair.”

Phil came back with a set of mugs in each hand, a sweet scent wafting from inside. He set one down in front of both children before retreating to grab his cup of tea. The chair screeched as he pulled it back. “Don't tell the boys and I’ll clean the cups.” 

Wilbur smiled brightly and took a long sip from his steaming mug of hot chocolate, the warmth filling him and soothing his light shivers. It reminded him of cold winters by the fire and pillow forts by the couch. 

True to their word; they dropped their empty mugs in the sink for Phil and spoke not a word to the two youngest of the house, who were busy playing in their shared room. 

  
  
  
  


_______

  
  
  
  


It wasn’t until fours years later when the memory of those days seemed so far from his mind. When life seemed to flash past in a blurring wheel of fuzzy memories. 

Wilbur stared into the blank eyes of the all-imposing ruler of the server, brown flared red with passion. “I am asking for nothing more than permission, Dream. I want to begin my own settlement. Something small just within your borders. Nothing unreasonable, in my humble opinion.”

He could see the irritated twitch of the admin’s just from just under his mask. There was an audible sigh as Dream brought a hand to his head. “I don't think I can do that, Wilbur.”

“Why not?” The avian asked, a shine of anger flaring in his feathers as he forced himself to calm down.

“Because this land is mine, this world is mine. Why would I spare even an ounce to anyone when I can have it all to myself? It would only lessen my own gain.”

Wilbur grind his teeth together. “You’re selfish. I’m asking for a simple plot of land to develop my own community under and you refuse!” His wings flared from behind him, large and intimidating. 

He felt a hand rest gently on his shoulder but shrugged it off with a feral growl, not bothering to look behind him at the face he knows would be disappointed. Wilbur watched with seething distaste as Dream shrugged. “I am selfish. What you say means nothing to me in the grand scheme of things. I advise you go back to the little  _ house  _ of yours before I order it to be teared down.”

“No.”

“No?” Dream echoed with an unseen quirk of his brow. “What do you mean  _ no _ ?”

“Dream. I’d like to challenge you for the rights to my own community, to my own land. Fight til conceding, if you will.”

There was a breath of laughter before a chorus of wheezes. Wilbur stepped back as his feather ruffled with unease. The sound, one that would bring joy to any other situation, was terrifyingly loud in the echoing cavern. “You-” Dream coughed into his gloved hand. “You want to  _ battle  _ me for the rights to your own land? You must be joking! Dear god, I hope you are.”

“I’m not!” Wilbur yelled angrily, fist clenched. “I am dead serious.”

The air was still as Dream climbed from his throne, footsteps painstakingly loud against tile. He stood before the taller man with his hand outstretched. “If you wish. But know, I won't go easy on you.”

“Wil- please, dont do this.” He heard a small voice plead behind him but he paid not mind.

Wilbur grasped the leather-bound hand within his own and shook it once. “Very well.”

.

.

.

It was a horrible idea, really. A terrible, insane ploy to get something he didn’t even  _ need.  _

But, as he lay motionless in Dream’s grasp, he so desperately wished to go back to the days of youth. To their small cabin home and to the night filled with child-like laughter. As he stares into the fear filled eyes of his youngest brother, he can’t help but to resent himself and how far he took this dream of his. As he meets the eyes of his dear father, he can’t help the smile that breaks through the tears. Finally locking eyes with the man he affectionately dubs his twin (no blood relations, just purely due to their close births), Wilbur can’t help but let the tears flow.

No one would save him. He knows that as the gleam of netherite flashes before his eyes. As the blade penetrates flesh and feathers and hacks through bone. As screams fill his ears and stuff his brain fuzzy with pain. 

He knows the looks of horror on his family's faces will stain his mind worse than the absolute crippling pain that seizes all motions. Wilbur he already curled in on his own body, spasms wracking every muscle as the nerves attached to his wings flare. The sound of metal on flesh was nauseating as he felt his stomach coil at the snapping of bone and tendons.

Wilbur could feel it all. Every hack, every cut, every heated wave of pain over his skin. 

Until he couldn't. Until all he felt was the absence from his back and the numbing chill of void crawling at his mind. He let it claim him, pulling him into a false sense of security as his eyes slipped shut. 

.

.

.

It was no more than a few hours that he felt the throbbing of life seep back into his bones and marinate in his skull. He fought against it, but knew it was useless as the pulsing of pain hit him wave after wave. Something so deliciously numbing was poured down his mouth and swallowed with a soft rub to his throat. 

“Hey Wil.” Someone called in a soft voice, a crack in between the words.

He was only partially conscious of his position on the bed, upright and slouched forward. A hand was carefully placed on his aching shoulder as a thumb rubbed gently against the bare skin. “Hey.” He croaked, voice hoarse from screaming. 

Wilbur pried his crusted eyes open and began lifting a hand to rub them. A stinging pain shot from his shoulder to his spine at the movement that he quickly hissed at and stopped. He blinked three times before meeting Phil’s eyes. Wilbur tried to smile but the only emotion he could pull was a grimace as tears burned down his cheeks. Phil forced a smile onto his own face, tears glistening in his eyes. “Im so sorry.” His father whispered, pulling a strand of curly, brown hair from Wil’s wet eyes and back behind the boy’s ear.

He choked on his own ears, back burning as he cried for the loss; loss of his wings on his shoulders and the loss of pride, dignity, and worth. Wilbur starred up through his blurry vision, hiccups breaking each word. “What do I do now…?”

  
  
  
  


_______

  
  
  
  


Wilbur had lost the fight but not the battle, as Dream relinquished his hold on the land and gifted it to the boy broken at his hands. Wil would now own a small quarter in the far side of Dream’s land- not quite yet, as the now wingless man had to recover, but Wilbur was free to take claim whenever he was ready.

It would take a year until the now twenty-two year old man would establish his land. That one year had been the worst Wilbur had ever taken part in living through. 

He would spend months locked in his room, quiet tears and soft grieving in the small space. Phantom pains would wreck his body and mind as he’d cry for the loss of his feathers, clutching the shed from times ago in shaking fingers as he pleaded for his freedom to return.

When he finally emerged from his cave, only from the harsh words of his twin, did he finally realize the wreckage his family had become. 

Tommy had taken to binding his own wings to his back, hiding the once beautiful white under cloth of lesser color. Phil, regardless of his own grief at losing his own son (not to death, but something considerably worse), had offered to teach the youngest flight. The feathers were just big enough for flight, small and for only a short period of time, but long enough. Tommy had refused. He didn’t want to leave his brother grounded, not when Tommy could leave him behind. Wilbur felt the sentiment deep in his heart, but it also chilled him at the realization that his faults not only caused his own downfall. 

Techno was someone Wilbur had seen daily, the only one of the house who he enabled access to his room. He was too scared of seeing his brother and father’s gorgeous feathers, not when his own would ghost his arms even when not there. 

His twin could enter with a plate of food each time, bags slowly drawing deeper and deeper into his eyes. They were so purple that Wilbur was sure they rivalled his own. He knew that the hybrid harbored guilt so severely that it was driving him to such horrible lengths of self-deprivation. It was almost like two sides of a coin; sorrow and guilt pairing together in a mess of morbid sadness.

Phil was less outward with his experience with it all. More quiet and brooding than vicious and tearful. He showed his grief in actions; making necessities and physical comfort. He missed Wil’s wings nearly as much as Wil missed them. 

The only one nearly unaffected was Tubbo, who had no images of gore in his eyes and bandages over his back. He, as the empath he was, felt the emotions in the house and fed off of the negativity. Tubbo would quietly cry his own tears at the loss of his brothers and would mutely comfort the suffering. 

The year passed achingly slow and it wasn’t until the near end of it that Wilbur staked claim to his land; the new community of L’Manburg. When Wilbur needed something to work on to remove the constant nagging in his head at the loss on his shoulders. 

Tommy had followed his brother to the land and helped to carve it as their own, towers of cobble and walls of stone within the small perimeter. Philza and their family had come for the first few weeks, helping to build and make places for the future people of L’Manburg. 

There was always an aching in his back as the short lumps that used to be wings would brush delicately against his skin. Wil’s wings would never return, never lift him from the ground again. The only good his numbs would bring him would be the reminder of what he had; which was sometimes more bittersweet than upsetting. 

Life would slip by as usual, birthday and holidays falling past with little recognition for what they were. Life was busy in his small country. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur's being selfish, but can Tommy really blame him?
> 
> (Yes, yes he can)

Pogtopia was a time that no one best remembered, an underground cavern everyone wished to leave behind. Buttons and arguments and threats of violence are the only reminiscence of the horrid place. Memories of arguments and fights were the only ones to be had in such a dark, mold-infested place.

Tommy remembers one memory more than the rest, and has the lingering scars to prove such.

Wilbur was always tolerable, if not comforting, during the times of the Revolution. He was a leader with a charismatic voice and the flare of commandment to back it up. Wil was someone to gravell at the feet of and marvel at his accomplishments.

There was none of that in Pogtopia, as the place seemed to drown any semblance of rational thought from the air. Tommy would admit that the downfall wasn’t entirely sporadic. That, at some point, Wilbur’s descent seemed to perfectly crafted between the stress of Presidency and the push of the Rebellion. Maybe it Dream who had been that final nudge, or maybe it was Tommy himself? No one could deny the differences between the then Wilbur and Wilbur now, regardless of the cause.

It seemed that the final straw to snap the man would come quick and fierce. 

Tommy stood behind Wilbur as a stack of dynamite was placed into his gloved hand, a malicious grin pulling across the once-President's face. “Thank you so very much, Dream.”

The admin smiled from behind the mask but only outwardly nodded, a flick of his wrist announcing his dismissal from the conversation. Wilbur turned to his younger brother and pat the boy on the head. “You know you can’t stop me, don’t you? You stepped back this time and so obediently followed my order. Thank you.” 

Tommy ducked away and slapped the hand from utop his head. “Dont touch me.” He hissed through his grinded teeth. “You have no right.” 

“No right?” Wilbur mockingly repeated, a false face of shock that morphed into the crude smile Tommy has grown eerily used to. “But Tommy! We’re brothers, you and I!” 

“Not after what you plan on doing.”

Wilbur pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth as a bubble of anger rose into his throat. He shakily exhaled and shook out his free hand to expel the urge to slap the boy across his face. “You support me, don't you? You wouldn’t have stayed if you didn’t.” 

Tommy gave one look to the man before turning around and sighing. “I stayed because you’re my brother and I love you, not because I support your every decision.”

“You love me!” Wilbur teased, a smile reminiscent of past times stretching his lips thin. “I knew you did! And, since you do so much, can I ask of you one little thing?”

The blond cocked his head to the side and steeled his heart from the warmth seeping into his chest. He missed Wil. “What do you want?”

“Could you grab me more TNT?” He placed the small satchel of it in his enderchest. “This isn’t quite enough for what I plan to do tomorrow. So, please, get me as much as possible by morning.”

“No.”

“Tsk.” Wilbur turned away, a grit to his teeth as his lips fell into a frown. “Tommy, do try not to make me laugh. I’m being serious.”

“So am I! So shut up! I’m not fuckin’ joking!” He yelled as his fists curled at his sides. “Blowing up L’manburg? After all we’ve accomplished?! You’re joking Wilbur, you’ve got to be.” 

Wilbur gave the boy a sad look before sighing and sifting a hand through his greasy hair and throwing his beanie off tilter. “Tommy. This isn’t L’manburg anymore.” Wil spoke level-toned. “I lost everything! Everything that mattered to me! But you dont get that, Tommy. You still have it all; Tubbo, the disks, all of it. The disks aren’t destroyed.”

“I do get it. I really do!”

Wil scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning away. Tommy felt the twinge of pain in his shoulders that was ever-present. “I gave up my wings for you!” Tommy yelled, his voice softening into a quiet, cold tone. “I gave up  _ my  _ chance to feel free and alive like you did! All  _ for  _ you!” 

There was a bitter taste on his tongue as he spat the words, anger flaring in his chest and a pang of pain to his heart at the startled look on Wilbur’s face. It melted into one of resentment as his lip twinged upward. “You- Tommy, you make me laugh.” Wilbur let the anger pour into his words. “The wings meant nothing to me. I lost them long ago and have since forgotten them. They are  _ nothing  _ to me anymore.”

Tommy’s blood stilled and his eyes widened as he stared, almost unseeingly, at Wilbur. They glistened over as a tear pooled and burned at his eyes. “You bastard! You idiot! Fuck you!” They spilled down his cheeks in waves of anger as he slammed his fist against Wilbur’s back. “You selfish asshole! I hate you! I gave up my dream for you! And you dont fucking care! You were my brother- my hero! I gave up what I wanted so fucking badly because I didn’t want you alone. You were grounded and I knew you couldn’t handle seeing me flying, so I gave it up for you! You prick!” 

His chest and shoulders heaved with the effort of crying as his heart tore itself from his sleeve and bled from his chest. Tommy peeled the shirt from his back and tore through his blindings- not unravelled, not pulled,  _ tore  _ -and felt the relief as his wings sagged from their restraints. They were dull and still weak from years of neglect, feathers bent and ruffled as old molts fell from his skin. He had only a tank top on, as to keep his wings from pressing directly to skin, but it still felt relieving to release them. 

“Wha- what? Did you just rip your bandages off?” Wilbur turned and looked down at his younger brother with shock as tears rolled down Tommy’s cheeks. 

“You know what, Wil?” Tommy seethed, pulling himself onto his feet and turning from his brother. “I  _ will  _ fly. And I’ll make sure you watch me. I’ll do it now!”

The strained to use muscles previously bound and felt the pull as they sagged, but to no avail. They remained limb on his back and painfully at his calves, premature-appearing and downright pitiful. The feathers were bent and overgrown to hell and back. 

Tommy felt a shrill burst of terror climb up his spine and pair with a shiver, body locking up. A hand pressed to his back and he flinched violently, falling onto his hands and knees as he scratched his skin. “Dont touch me!”

Wilbur’s eyes were pained as Tommy fell back onto his hands. He placed his gloved hand gently over the boy’s cheek and carressed under his eyes. “Hey, hey,” he gently cooed. “It's okay, come here.” Wil pulled Tommy into his chest.

He pushed his palms against the older’s chest before caving and stilling. Tommy pushed back the tears building in his eyes as he acknowledged the lack of feeling in his wings. “Shhh, it’ll be okay.” There was a hand pressing almost awkwardly on his feathers. “Don't worry, okay?”

“I can’t- they won't- they’re broken, Wil.” 

Wilbur softly cooed to his brother, arm wrapping loosely around his shoulders and squeezing affectionately. Tommy, through his panic, didn’t notice the blade drawn from Wilbur’s side. The hands over his skin were calloused and familiar, but did nothing to soothe the panic. 

“I know, I know.” Something cold and sharp pressed to Tommy’s skin and made him jump, a hiss spilling from his mouth. “I’ll fix it, I promise.”

“W-Wil? Wilbur, what’re you doing?”

There were cold lips pressed to his forehead as the edge of a blade dug sharply into his skin. Tommy cried out and pushed against the hand wrapped painfully around his waist. “It’s okay, it’s okay. This has to happen, okay?” 

“No! No! Stop- stop it now!” Tommy sobbed. 

He couldn’t stop the tears as heat flared at the gnawing of the blade between his shoulders. His nails dug into Wilbur’s skin and clawed to be released. “Dream taught me some things, y’know?” He spoke so casually as he pried his brother’s limp wing from his back. “Attachments are fatal. You clearly have one for these little feathered things.”

“Stop!”

It“They dont even work! You can’t feel them! Surely you must see this as a favor, if not a gift?”

Tommy felt himself slipping into a mind-numbing state of unfeeling, body limp and compliant under Wilbur’s blade. The stinging sensation seemed so distant now and didn’t register as pain as his eyes slowly closed. Wilbur continued to whisper softly into his ear as he fell unconscious, plucking his white wings from his back without remorse. 

Wilbur, once ensured Tommy wouldn’t die of blood loss and the wounds were cauterized but the flame enchantment, he grabbed the severed appendages and walked over to the nearby fire. He had every intent on disposing of the pesky things, to remove every and any notion that they ever existed. 

“What did you  _ do _ ?” 

He stilled in place, feet rooted to the ground as a vicious smile pulled crooked over his face. “Technoooooo! Hello dear friend!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end boys! Suffer :)


End file.
